Growing Pains
by Zanah1213
Summary: Sherlock's thirteen and he's got a lot on his mind, but for now, it's night time and he knows exactly what he wants to do. There's a ledge under his window that connects to John Watson's, and he plans on meeting him, finally. Kid!lock


He would have told you that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders that night just to be dramatic, and he would have said it while his fingers skimmed the smooth glass of his window and his eyes, wide with wonder, peered out of it. Outside, it was cold and unwelcoming; seeming almost dangerous to him, he found that that didn't matter in the slightest. In fact, he welcomed the feeling, reveling in the slight rush of adrenaline that he was unused to but which he delighted in occasionally, in spite of being so young.

He was only thirteen on that night - that frightening, marvelous night.

And while there was a weight pressing down on his shoulders, desperately holding him there, it wasn't enough to scare him away from the outside world. With a deep intake of breath, he moved his fingers to the latches of the window and undid them slowly, taking each moment carefully. This night felt special; his brother was asleep, two doors down, and his parents were out on a 'date' – he knew their relationship was doomed and that this was just pretend, but there was nothing that could be done, so he'd said nothing when they'd left. All he could do was smile weakly and wave his fingers in goodbye.

He released his bated breath and shifted his hands to the bottom of the window, sliding the wide pane up without allowing for a moment of hesitation. A gush of frigid air hit him near the stomach as he did and he gasped audibly; clearly, he'd miscalculated the temperature outside by _several _degrees. It was a good thing he was already wearing his long overcoat or else even his spirit might have been dampened by the temperature. He sat back on his feet, thoughtful as he wrapped his arms tightly around himself in an attempt to retain the heat that was steadily slipping away.

He could always wait for another day, a more opportune one to do this…

"'He's being problematic again, darling; Mycroft hasn't been able to control him. That in itself is a sign that things have moved beyond repairable and I'm sorry, but he simply must be sent away.' Oh, sod it all, tonight is my _only_ night to do this," he immediately murmured to himself, repeating something he'd heard his father say to his mother earlier that day. His eyes closed for a moment while his stomach twisted at the sickening condescension he'd detected in his father's voice. Shaking his head, he dismissed the memory and wiped away at the tears that rimmed his eyes.

As much as he disliked his home and the people at times, he didn't want to _leave_.

"Stupid, you're being stupid. You're curious enough for this, do go on."

His breathing a little shakier from both the suppressed sadness and the cold still billowing in through the open window, he didn't allow himself to hesitate any longer before squeezing out onto the small roof that jutted out under his window. Once safely perched atop the ledge he paused to catch his breath, wincing at the chill that suddenly spiked at his lungs; he slowed his breathing and smiled in triumph once the pain had eased off slightly. So far, so good. He looked around and tried to pick out details from the darkness, although that proved difficult.

Instead, he leaned forward on his knees and stuck his hands out in front of him to catch his weight while he looked at the window across from him. The blinds were down but through the slats he could see a dim light pouring out. Oh good, they were still awake. He smiled; this was his opportunity, and he was still determined to take it.

There was another roof under the window opposite him, with no room in between the two; he crawled on his hands and knees towards it, picking his way carefully over the shingles. Once he'd made his way onto the other roof, he leaned up against the window, pressing his numb fingers to the clear, glass pane.

_Here we go_, he thought with a sigh as he rapped his knuckles once, then twice against the glass. He immediately clambered over the rough shingles to his side of the house, settling back onto his rump with a small sigh as he waited.

His heart gave a little start when a face finally appeared at the window opposite him, sliced evenly into lines by the blinds. He kept his head down a bit and drew his knees up to his body, faintly hoping they'd see him and come out to talk. He would really love that; he'd love it with all that he could, given the kid-sized heart he had.

And thankfully, it did open after a moment's pause.

A small smile quirked at the edge of his mouth when he heard a familiar gasp; it appeared that they too - the young male he planned to converse with - had just faced the chilly night. However, he pushed the smile away slightly as a head of dirty blonde hair poked out, and then it became a thin-lipped smile as watering eyes peered at him, squinting into the darkness. He opened his mouth, feeling it was the right time to finally say something.

"The name's Sherlock Holmes. But maybe you knew that already. If not, now you definitely do." He considered bringing the smile back to its full width to appear reassuring, but then he immediately decided he didn't actually _want_ to come off as reassuring. That would just be a lie. Lies were something you didn't want in friendship unless they were _absolutely necessary_, he'd learned. He was applying all that he knew to this one night, for this one person.

"Oh? Well, I most certainly do now. Is this the bit where I come join you out on this roof thing and possibly freeze to death because of it?" They sounded amiable, and just a bit put off, Sherlock thought. Perhaps they'd been in the middle of something important. Then that meant he'd been _rude, _interrupting them.

Sherlock was flustered for a moment, worried that he was going to lose the attention of the person; he spotted a smirk on their face as they looked at him, however, and that in itself was a necessary reassurance for him. Shrugging his thin shoulders, he struggled to appear nonchalant, although his chattering teeth ruined the effect slightly.

"I suppose if you're willing to give it a try. I doubt you'd _freeze _to death, though; it's hardly cold enough for that. I think you could go to Antarctica for that."

"Alright, I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for the tip." Sherlock carefully noted the quick dip of the person's head in a nod, and he nearly cried out when they suddenly retreated back into the warmth of their room. They left the window open but even so, a stubborn, unpleasant thought remained with Sherlock…

He'd messed up, _somehow_. And it had been so quick, losing the interest of his target! This was so incredibly _frustrating_, and yet…and yet he still had time to do something, didn't he?

"I don't get an introduction in return? I should consider that rude," he called out daringly, sucking in a sharp breath and letting the feeling of cold wash over him in an effort to calm himself. Surprisingly enough there was a response, it was immediate, and it was full of more good cheer. This person seemed full of it actually, and Sherlock was more than willing to soak in all of it.

"Rude? Did I really leave that impression on you already? God, I'm sorry for that."

"I mean, you can still change it. First impressions don't have to be permanent."

"But they do seem to matter the most, I've found."

Sherlock sighed, shaking his head as soon as the person appeared again at the window with hands laid eagerly against the window sill. "It doesn't have to be like that, you know. You could make me forget I ever thought of you as rude if you really wanted." This made the person laugh loudly and Sherlock found, with a startling heart-stopping wrench, that he rather liked that sound.

"I'll take my chances then. Ally-oop!"

Sherlock let out a choked gasp as the hands disappeared again and legs suddenly swung out of the window; he reached out quickly to offer some form of assistance (when really, what could he actually _do_?) and drew his hand back just as rapidly - hesitantly, even.

"Don't fall off!" he called out instead. There was no mistaking it once he spoke - that was actual concern in his voice, whispered vehemently to the other person.

"No worries!" And there was the unmistakable sigh of relief, starting from the bottom of Sherlock's stomach and working its way out of his mouth, loud and clear. He covered his mouth immediately, drawing his knees as close as possible to his body and hiding his face behind them. Not a moment later, he felt a hand on top of his knee and he looked up cautiously into a smiling face lit up dimly by the moonlight.

"Hello."

"Hello," he managed to whisper. "I see you decided to join me then."

"Yes, I might regret this decision later though. It is unbelievably cold; how long have you been out here?"

"I only ventured out a mi-" He was silenced by a finger to his lips, and while his breath caught in his throat, the other person spoke as if having just realized something.

"No wait, before you go on, I just remembered I forgot to do something. Something important. Do you know what?" Sherlock nodded, noting that the finger was still pressed to his lips.

"Of course. Introduce yourself or forever remain rude in my eyes. That's what we were just discussing, I believe."

"You _are _a sharp fellow then. Alright, I'll introduce myself. I'm John Watson."

Sherlock had known that already, but he hadn't felt the need to inform the other of this fact; instead, he let him talk about himself, even if it was only for a second. He knew that John was almost exactly two years older than him, give or take a few months. He knew that he had an older sister who went by the nickname of Harry instead of Harriet, though John used Harriet to annoy her sometimes. He also knew that John had a good relationship with his parents, which was more than he could say for himself. All of these things, he knew from careful observation that had taken time and a keen interest to keep at it.

And if there was one thing Sherlock knew above all the many things he knew about this John Watson, it was that he clearly didn't know enough about him, and while he wasn't willing to admit that, he was willing to take the time to learn more. Unfortunately, he'd made his move a little too late and now had only a small amount of time to do so.

Properly introduced, John removed his finger from Sherlock's lips and moved a little, carefully making his way back to his own little ledge. He sat back and crossed his legs, laying his hands down on them as he looked at Sherlock, that funny smile still on his face. Occasionally, a bout of shivers seemed to overtake John as he sat there, but then he'd recover and rub his arms a bit. Sherlock was relatively warm in his coat, which he'd gotten as a Christmas present just a few months ago. And other than the shivers and small moans of complaint from John, it soon became just silence between them; as it continued, Sherlock began to regret his decision.

"So…Can I ask why I'm here? Would that be okay, to ask that right now while we sit here and _don't _freeze to death?" Sherlock recognized uncertainty in John's voice when he finally spoke softly, and that further worried _him_; the longer this meeting continued, the more he began to wish he'd never started it.

"I was curious." There was no point in beating around the bush, so Sherlock spoke outright; once the truth was out, though, he had to admit that it felt and sounded like a pitiful reason. It hung between them for a moment as John mulled it over; Sherlock could only clutch at his legs and hide behind them while the silence persisted.

"Was that…not good?" he ventured, finding that John was being too quiet. John looked up in surprise. He shook his head, frowning.

"You could say it was…a bit not good, yeah. Or weird, really."

"Oh…Should I apologize then, for being so blunt?"

"You can if you want. I mean, if that satisfies you. I don't really need an apology; this encounter has made my night more interesting, in case you were wondering."

"Were you having a dull night too, then?" Sherlock laid his legs out straight in front of him, finally ready to look at John. His interest was piqued, and had been for a while; John was _interesting_, no doubt about it. That was why he had wanted this to happen. The fact that their houses were joined in the manner that they were just happened to be a convenient bonus, one that Sherlock approved of wholeheartedly.

"I have them all the time actually, if you choose to believe _that _little tidbit!" Sherlock snorted on accident when John suddenly threw his hands up in the air dramatically. Embarrassed, he pressed his feet together, laying them flat against each other so that he could lay them upon the shingles without sitting cross-legged.

"Don't worry, I believe you. Definitely."

"But I mean…being curious can't have been the only reason."

"What?"

"It was my good looks, I bet. You looked at me and decided, 'yes, that kid over there will be my friend. He is a good looking fellow that I would be honored to have at my side. _Damn_." John gave a little start when that word slipped out and he looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Oh no, sorry, that word just…I don't usually talk like that, I'll have you know…! How old are you, again?" Sherlock's grin returned at how flurried John suddenly appeared.

"I never told you my age, so there's no _again _about this, but I'm thirteen for future reference. And you really don't need to worry about what words you use with me; I've heard them all. I even bet I'll use them all before I die." John nodded, a sigh of relief escaping his lips and a small smirk appearing on his face again.

"Oh, thank goodness for that. I was worried for a second. Hah, now _that_ sounds like a mighty feat, using all existing words before you die. I bet you'll find a way, though. If anyone can, it's you; I can already tell. But tell me - was it _actually_ my good looks? Will I be your handsome friend?"

Sherlock flushed with pleasure at the masked compliment behind John's words, and then the flush deepened as John continued. He shrugged again and put his hands on his feet, looking down at them. It wouldn't be very Sherlock-like to admit that John _was _handsome and something to look at.

"Well, I'm not sure; I can't say I understand why you keep going on and on about me choosing you to be my friend. You're making it into a big deal, when it's really not. Who's to say that was really what I wanted?"

"Ah, I see. Becoming friends wasn't actually your intent. You don't seem like a person with a lot of friends anyways." He paused, his head shooting up so he could stare at Sherlock with guilt in his eyes and then a sudden realization. "Wait wait wait a bloody second how did I not realize this…_oh_, you're Sherlock Holmes. This whole time too. Oh God, things make _sense now._" John's mouth had popped open in surprise halfway through speaking as if he'd been hit by a sudden, harsh epiphany, and Sherlock drew back a little.

"Yes, I already told you my name. So?" John began shaking his head, the word _no _repeatedly sounding from his lips. Little spurts of wispy white condensation escaped

"You just…I know about you and I can't believe I didn't realize this upon actually hearing your name. People talk about the thirteen year old who's the quirky genius _all_ the time at school. And the funny thing is he, like all brilliant people, doesn't have friends. I didn't know he lived _next door _though. So to have you here…talking to _me_, of all people, as if we're friends…" Sherlock sighed, waving his hand irritably at the things John was saying.

"They don't know what they're saying. I pay attention more than most, sure, but that doesn't give me such a title as _genius_. And _so what _if I picked you? I never even said you were right in that aspect!"

"I'm an _ordinary _kid, so it's just…not unheard of but…I don't know."

"An ordinary kid who happens to have a ledge under his window that connects with mine. Like I said from the very beginning, I was curious. Need I say _more_?"

"I'd like a better reason than that, if you please."

At that point something snapped, and words suddenly gushed forth from Sherlock, filled with the emotion that had been suppressed earlier. And to Sherlock's utter surprise, John listened intently; his eyes widened for a moment but then he settled back, rubbing his arms frantically while Sherlock went on and on with a frightening display of emotion.

"No, because I don't have any other reasons and I don't really feel the need to give you a better one. Maybe I _do _want to be friends with you, but that's mostly because of my curiosity, alright? You can believe it's because of your good looks if you want, and I'll play along because maybe, that _is_ something that plays a part, but if it is, it's a minor part at best that was pushed along by my, you guessed it, _curiosity_. Or maybe, my curiosity has led me to believe that having a friend will help me before I have to leave behind everything I know to go to some boarding school where my supposed genius will _continue _to be elevated to ridiculous levels. Even more possible is that my curiosity has left me to wonder what not being lonely feels like. But it all lies with my curiosity, you see, and not with anything you might cook up. So you can just…just _sod off _if you are that convinced of yourself."

Finished with his small tirade, Sherlock realized he was breathing heavily, little puffs of condensation appearing in rapid succession before him. He was shaking, too; for several seconds he shut his eyes tightly and allowed the flood of emotions – fear, sadness, anger, and confusion, to name a few – to overtake him.

And before he could stop and regain his calmness, tears decided to make their appearance as well, streaming down his cheeks and stinging his eyes. He opened his eyes with a small gasp, rubbing the sleeves of his coat in a furious attempt to get rid of the horrible evidence of his childish emotions. They didn't stop coming though, and he only worsened it by doing that; snot smeared across the rough fabric and he knew his cheeks were red at this point. By then he felt nothing but embarrassment, knowing perfectly well that John had been able to watch the boy genius, Sherlock, become undone through simple emotions. He looked up through teary eyes, a fierce scowl on his face even though he was drowning in regret for even trying to become friends with John.

So it was a total surprise to see John's face, right in front of him, grinning away like he'd just won a big prize. Sherlock jerked back a little out of sheer surprise and sniffled as he did, looking away immediately. John drew closer anyways and smiled, holding out a hand in an offer.

"If you had just asked me right from the start, I would have accepted."

"Accepted what?" Sherlock managed, though his voice was thick with tears and a bit higher-pitched than he would have liked. He hadn't hit puberty yet, so his voice ruined him whenever he cried. He gave John's proffered hand a once over and took it after a second of pondering; John smiled and squeezed his hand gently in response before letting go.

"Oh, you're just saying that. I bet you know. You know a lot." The look of honest sincerity on John's face when he said that took Sherlock by surprise, and he ran his sleeve across his nose again, lost as to what he could possibly say next.

"Alright, I do know. My proposal for _friendship_." He tried to say the word with disdain, and he wrinkled his nose as he did, but John just laughed.

"That's it! Are you still offering the position to me?"

"If you want."

"Then I will gladly accept!"

Sherlock tilted his head slightly, aware that the tears had stopped and all that remained were the streaks from the corners of his eyes down to his chin, and he looked at John. The older male looked back, a curious smile on his face as he tilted his head to match Sherlock's. Sherlock noticed that John's cheeks were flushed, undoubtedly from the cold.

"Do you really mean it?" he asked hesitantly. John nodded.

"I think we could make something work. And we already have a great hangout; I mean, so long as we don't do this every _night_, when it's unbearably cold and all. I think that you deserve a friend. Especially after what you said."

"I don't think I'll make a very good friend. And I'm leaving soon, if you were actually listening to what I said; I'll be going far away for a very long time…" John shrugged, not appearing worried in the slightest by Sherlock's gnawing worries.

"We can think of something; it's just a boarding school, surely they wouldn't prevent you from writing letters to your friends, would they?" Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that; he felt a fluttery sort of sensation in his chest, or maybe it was all over his body. Either way, it was incredibly overwhelming. He identified it for what it was, and was surprised to find it to be hope, small but definitely there.

"I don't think so, but they'll definitely be surprised. My reputation as being a friendless child has already reached them. But John, I'd…" He paused, gulped in preparation, and continued. "I'd like that. A lot. Being friends with you and…and everything that comes with it."

John's hand came to rest on Sherlock's shoulder as he grinned for the umpteenth time that night, and Sherlock's responding smile was genuine when John spoke with finality: "Then it's settled. Sherlock Holmes, I am John Watson, and I will most certainly be your friend. Now let's get off of this bloody roof because I might have just lost feeling in my toes and you will definitely have to check, seeing as you're now my friend."

"And friends do that."

"Yeah, friends do that."


End file.
